


Tuesday's Gone

by Ineffable_and_Temporary



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a bit of a bastard, Aziraphale likes to draw, Ethereal beings are dramatic, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Minor Original Character(s), Mostly Fluff, Mutual Pining, Pre-Apocalypse, Slight Canon Divergence, Takes place in the late 70s, a lot of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-06-28 01:39:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19802095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineffable_and_Temporary/pseuds/Ineffable_and_Temporary
Summary: Aziraphale has been taking a drawing class for a little over a year. He's also been lying to Crowley about it.





	1. Chapter 1

It had become a regular song and dance between them. Crowley would show up, usually unannounced, sometimes with tickets to a show he knew Aziraphale was looking forward to seeing, sometimes with a reservation at a restaurant, sometimes with nothing more than a new suit and that silver tongue that promised Aziraphale a memorable night out on the town.

Aziraphale’s response was always the same.

“It’s _Tuesday_ ,” he would say, over and over, every week, almost as soon as the demon sauntered into his bookshop.

And every week, right on cue, Crowley would raise his eyebrows and ask, “So?”

“I have plans on Tuesdays,” the song would continue.

“Oh?” Crowley always acted surprised.

And then Aziraphale would start to dance - metaphorically of course. It wasn’t even a _thing_ , not really. But his Tuesdays had become rather sacred over the past year, and even Crowley had not been able to persuade him to cancel or reschedule his secret plans. And it wasn’t a secret – not _really_. It was just something Aziraphale preferred to keep to himself.

Unfortunately, this only made Crowley more curious and he seemed downright determined to either figure it out for himself or, _apparently_ , tempt Aziraphale into confessing. 

So Aziraphale dodged and danced; he’d make excuses and skirt the truth, he’d get flustered and _complain_ – but it always finished on the same note. The demon would concede his loss. The whole _thing_ would come to an abrupt end with Crowley looking defeated and Aziraphale promising to buy him lunch the following day to make up for it. By then everything would be back to their own comfortable sort of normal.

When it came to big, important things, Crowley was very good with boundaries. They were already walking on and around a very fine line between what they could get away with and what they wanted. Despite being around for six thousand years, the past few decades had been _complicated_ for a number of fairly new reasons. Well, newly _realized_ reasons. Newly realized reasons that Aziraphale still hadn’t really worked out yet.

Yes, _here_ , Crowley was very good with boundaries.

Where Crowley apparently wasn’t very good with boundaries was when Aziraphale was actively keeping something minor from him. He would have been more angry about it, except for the fact that he didn’t really have a good reason for lying to Crowley in the first place. If he was being honest with himself, and he really tried to be, the only reason he didn’t tell Crowley he was taking a drawing class on Tuesday nights, was that he was embarrassed and figured the demon would want to see what he had been working on. A part of him wanted Crowley to know, to tell him it wasn’t anything he had to worry about – he wasn’t off thwarting another demon or risking his corporeal form on some reckless endeavor. For two hours, once a week, he would sit with a group of ten or so other students and try his hardest to put what was before him onto paper. He rarely felt like he succeeded. If he was _still_ being honest with himself, Aziraphale didn’t think he was any good, even after a year, and he had been lying to Crowley for so long now that, well, it was really sort of a mess. If the demon happened to find out on his own, it would probably be easier on them both.

But just as soon as Aziraphale grew comfortable with the idea of Crowley finding out, the demon stopped asking. Two weeks went by with no Tuesday visit.

After the first absence, Aziraphale had called him up later that night and invited Crowley over for drinks. The demon had accepted. He showed up with a bottle of something expensive that Aziraphale didn’t catch the name of, made some excuse about work and then it was all forgotten. He didn’t pry or ask Aziraphale where he had been. The evening had unfolded as most of their other ones had. They both drank far too much, debated lively about something irrelevant, and sobered up before Crowley passed out on the sofa.

But after Crowley had missed the 2nd Tuesday, Aziraphale knew the song and dance was over. The disappointment he felt at that realization surprised him, but he weathered it well, continued on to class that night and, again, called Crowley up after. They made plans for lunch the following day and things felt back to normal. Or at least they would very soon.

Perhaps Crowley was better with boundaries than he thought.

-

In Crowley’s defense, it was kind of an accident.

After that first missed Tuesday, after drinking all night with Aziraphale, after heading home sober with an aching want in his chest that he just couldn’t seem to satisfy, after finishing off two bottles of wine in the tub and then a third while pacing around his flat, Crowley had finally passed out. He hadn’t intended to sleep for a week. Sometimes these things just happen. But it was Tuesday again and that ache that Crowley had been desperately trying to quell was back with a vengeance.

He knew lies. He knew Aziraphale was lying to him. It was fine. The angel could have his _secrets_. He could do what he liked. But why _lie_ about it?

They were fairly honest with each other, weren’t they? _You go to fast for me, Crowley_. The words had been haunting him for little over a decade. They had stung at the time – they _still_ stung now – but they were honest. When it came to the big, complicated things, Aziraphale was honest. Wasn’t he?

And Crowley had given him space. It was only a year after Aziraphale showed up and asked Crowley to slow down (in not so many words) that Aziraphale first invited him to the Ritz.

_Go for a picnic – dine at the Ritz_. Crowley had carried the words with him like a roadmap.

Crowley thought that had been progress. It felt like progress. They dined there regularly now. They drank together at Aziraphale’s almost every week. They had evolved past The Arrangement to something comfortable - undefined, but comfortable. They hadn’t been on a picnic yet, but they’d been feeding ducks in the park for years. Didn’t that count?

It’s not that Crowley expected more. He _wanted_ more – he wanted so much more, but that _more_ wasn’t realistic. Getting caught as they were now was already practically inevitable. The fact they had gone unnoticed for as long as they had was some kind of miracle, if you could even miracle this sort of thing. He had already given up on what he _wanted_ \- he had given up on it ages ago. But the lying hurt more than he cared to admit. Maybe they couldn’t have _more_ , but couldn’t they have _something_?

He looked at the clock.

It was early, but he could go over, bug Aziraphale again, watch him turn red and bluster about the bookshop trying to think of any reason for Crowley to leave.

No. He wasn’t going to go over just to get lied to again. Aziraphale could have his Tuesdays. Crowley didn’t care.

Crowley showered. He dressed. He paced around the flat. He looked at the clock again. Only an hour had passed.

He tended to his plants. He turned on the tv. He turned off the tv.

If he went over, Aziraphale would probably invite him to lunch the following day. That would at least be _something_. It didn’t take much to convince himself to _just go already_ and now it was time to look the part. Crowley snapped his fingers, took a good look at his new outfit in the bathroom mirror and smiled.

_Temptation_. 

It was later than usual by the time Crowley left for Aziraphale’s. Not only that but there had been an accident involving multiple cars and the normally short drive to the bookshop was now going to take at least an hour in this traffic. Frustrated, Crowley parked his car at the first available opportunity. He could walk the rest of the way.

The shop was already closed by the time Crowley arrived. He groaned and cursed his own indecision under his breath. He thought about grabbing a drink at the bar around the corner and waiting for Aziraphale to return. But then, much to his relief, he saw the angel walking down the street, not even a block away.

Curiosity got the better of him.

Well, to be fair, curiosity and concern. This was, after all, the same angel who needed to be rescued from both the Bastille and Nazi spies. _Not_ following him could be considered irresponsible.

Crowley told himself, repeatedly as he walked, that he was just going to make sure Aziraphale wasn’t up to anything dangerous and then that would be that. The end. He could have his Tuesdays all to himself, with whomever he wanted, without any interference from Crowley.

He caught up quickly but kept his distance. Aziraphale crossed the street and slipped into a small, plain looking storefront. Crowley stopped following and simply stared.

To say that the small craft store was a _surprise_ doesn’t even begin to cover the range of emotions that bubbled up inside of Crowley’s chest. Eventually, he would settle on confusion, but that would only come after a long, hard look over the past year while finishing off a bottle of Talisker whiskey at the same nearby bar he had considered drinking at before following Aziraphale to _a craft store_. A _fucking_ craft store. At some point he must have walked in and ordered the drink - he was seated at a table and the bartender had clearly brought him a bottle, but his mind was so distracted that nothing seemed to register.

_Art’s Heart_.

Well, for starters the name was shit. Crowley ordered another bottle and tried to say it three times fast. “ArtsHeart-ArtsSart-SartSart,” he slurred. _Who’s Art? Oh, Art._

At some point he must have left the bar because he found himself walking, fresh bottle of whiskey in hand. He somehow stumbled back to his car, sobered up and made it home just in time for Aziraphale to call and ask him to lunch.

-

Crowley had told himself he wasn’t going to go back.

Unfortunately, that resolution had lasted all of two days. It was Thursday morning and Crowley couldn’t get _Art’s Heart_ out of his head. His mind circled back to protecting Aziraphale, but it was a flimsy excuse. If he was really being honest with himself, _he wasn’t_ , but if he was, Crowley just wanted to know what could possibly be inside of a _craft store_ that would be worth hiding for over a year.

Plenty of things came to mind. Crowley hated them all.

-

The store itself was small, but judging from the building’s size, there was a much larger backroom. It was clean and organized, the _craft supplies_ were more fine art supplies, and eventually Crowley saw all he could see from the outside and ventured in. It felt like enemy territory.

“Morning,” the man came around the counter to greet him with an open hand extended to his first customer of the day. _Dave_ _W_ was plastered across the large heart shaped nametag and _Owner, Instructor_ was underneath in smaller letters.

As Crowley scanned his surroundings, he saw paintings for sale hanging up all around the shop. They were mostly landscapes and even Crowley had to admit that they were stunning. Had he been there under better circumstances, he might have considered buying one of them. His eyes fell to a rustic cabin overlooking a crystal clear lake and for a brief moment he thought about Aziraphale. But then he noticed the _D.W._ scribbled in the corner. Crowley looked around at the others – all of the paintings were done by the same artist.

_Dave_.

_Dave_ exuded warmth. _Dave_ smiled with his whole face. _Dave_ had the audacity to look happy to see him. Crowley seethed but took the offered had. Strong grip. Firm shake. He was taller than Crowley and built like a lumberjack with a full beard to match. His shoulders were broad and he was wide and thick all the way down. _Dave_ wore an ivory sweater with the sleeves rolled up and paint splattered jeans. 

Crowley did not like this _Dave_ one bit.

He forced a smile. “Hi.”

“What can I do for you?”

_American_ , Crowley frowned. He looked around the shop. He hadn’t prepared a proper excuse.

“Were you looking for anything in particular?” _Dave_ tried again.

_Aziraphale_ , he thought. _Wait – Aziraphale_.

“Yes, sorry,” Crowley quickly turned on the charm. “I’m looking for a gift.”

Crowley didn’t think it was possible, but _Dave’s_ face somehow lit up even more. He had soft eyes, Crowley noted, the kind that always managed to look happy even when they weren’t. _Dave’s_ eyes were _soft_ and blue and seemed to sparkle in the early morning sunlight that poured in through the windows of his shop.

Crowley’s eyes, hidden behind his sunglasses, were full blown yellow.

“Great. Who are you shopping for?”

“A…friend,” he said. _An angel_ , he meant. _My angel_ – well, Crowley backed away from that one quickly. Boundaries after all. “I think he’s into this sort of thing.”

“And I take it you’re not?” _Dave_ laughed as he guided Crowley over to the glass counter. 

“Never really gave it much thought,” he lied easily. The names Crowley could drop, the art work he had influenced over the years, would probably make _Dave’s_ head spin and his jaw drop, but Crowley wasn’t here for that. Not yet at least.

“Well if you change your mind we have classes,” he pointed to a bright pink calendar on the wall. “Maybe your friend could join you?”

_Classes?_ Crowley wandered over to the calendar and stared. _Well, bless me_. 

_Tuesday – 6pm – Beginner’s Drawing (Ages 18+)_

_Instructor: Dave W._

Crowley felt something loosen inside of him, something he hadn’t even realized had been wound so tight. Had he worried for nothing? Would Aziraphale really lie about taking a drawing class? Or was there something else – something about the class he didn’t want Crowley, specifically Crowley, to know about?

_Instructor Dave_.

Ya, his money was still on _Dave_. _Dave_ seemed bright and happy, creative and kind, rugged and too damn attractive to be tucked away inside some shop. Human ages were hard to ballpark after a few thousand years, but if Crowley had to guess, _Dave_ was probably approaching 50. His hair and beard had started to grey, but the salt and pepper look was really working for him. Overlooking the casual attire and splotches of paint, he could see Aziraphale being interested – _Dave_ was an artist after all. The mess was _endearing_. 

Crowley felt sick.

It wasn’t his place. If the angel like this _Dave_ , well fine. _Dave_ wasn’t a demon. Consorting with humans wasn’t forbidden, although he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale ever had in the past. The fact that he didn’t even know seemed like a massive oversight. Who else had he missed over the years?

_Dave_ wouldn’t be around forever either, Crowley couldn’t help but think with a horrible, sinking feeling that he didn’t fully understand. Even if Aziraphale was interested, or even – Heaven Above – were they already _together_? It couldn’t last. They would have a few years, especially at Dave’s age, but eventually it would end. That was the problem with humans. You couldn’t really get attached for long.

What would that be? 40 years, at _most_? Crowley could give Aziraphale some space for 40 years. Couldn’t he? They’d been apart longer. Not recently. But before. Maybe they were back to _before_. Crowley hadn’t really liked _before_ all that much. He liked now. He liked lunches at the Ritz and surprising Aziraphale with various desserts from all over London. He liked drinking until they were too drunk to move and he even liked the horrible sobering up after. Aziraphale always worried about Crowley driving back home after nights like that. Some nights he insisted Crowley sleep on his sofa. Crowley liked sleeping on his sofa. Crowley liked taking him to bad movies. Crowley liked being dragged to stuffy films and operas – he’d complain the entire time, even if he was enjoying himself, but that was part of the fun. Crowley liked feeding the ducks. Their ducks. Their park. Their undefined, evolving _whatever-it-was_.

He took a shaky breath as his eyes filled with tears.

He didn’t want to sleep away the next 40 or so years. What if Aziraphale needed him? What if he needed the angel? He was already content to wait.

_You go to fast for me, Crowley_.

He could wait, even if the _waiting_ meant another six thousand years. 

Stepping away from the calendar, Crowley wandered back to the counter. Everything was swimming in front of him, but inside the glass case he spotted a row of leather bound books. He knelt down and tried to collect himself. Maybe he would actually get Aziraphale a present after all. Something to let him know that _he knew_. _He knew_ and it was okay. _He knew_ and he wasn’t going anywhere. No matter what.

“You know,” Dave continued. “If you’re interested in art but haven’t decided where to…start,” he laughed at his accidental rhyme. “Well, there’s other ways to get _involved_.”

Crowley couldn’t read Dave’s face, but something had shifted while Crowley had been experiencing the worst five minutes of his life. Curious, he stood up and leaned on the counter.

“Oh?”

-

Another Tuesday had come and gone without a word from Crowley. In fact, he had seen less and less of the demon as the weeks went by. It didn’t sit well with him and Aziraphale found himself worrying he had overstepped some invisible line between them. Perhaps he had. 

A part of him missed the back and forth, the song and dance. He missed the gestures, the invitations, the heartfelt way Crowley would come bursting through the door dangling something enticing in front of Aziraphale hoping to get a bite _this_ time. He missed the way Crowley would sigh and groan at the angel’s stubbornness.

Enough was enough. He would just tell him. After class, he would phone Crowley up, tell him the truth and invite him over for drinks. They’d get drunk and laugh about it before the night was over. He’d let the demon give him hell about making such a big deal over something so insignificant. He’d even show Crowley all of his terrible drawings if it would just _fix_ things between them.

He changed out of his suit and into his drawing attire. It wasn’t much different from his regular attire, except the clothes were newer and easily replaceable should something smudge or spill. He always took off his jacket and wore an apron, but still, if he could avoid the mess, he would.

It was a nice night and a short walk. He was early as usual and moved seamlessly to get set up.

The class itself was small, usually only ten of them including Dave, the instructor, but Aziraphale preferred it that way. Although they only socialized for a few minutes before class began and then again while they were cleaning up after, Aziraphale genuinely enjoyed everyone’s company.

_Mariah and Lynette_ were a young couple in their mid-30s who always brought either crafts they made themselves or snacks to share. The snacks were also usually homemade and delicious and Aziraphale often ate twice as many as everyone else. They absolutely loved him for it. _Oscar_ was a dentist in need of a hobby. He didn’t talk much but he was patient and willing to loan out any supplies he wasn’t currently using. _Robert_ had been in construction. He was retired now and his doctor had recommended art therapy. _Vijay_ was the youngest – somewhere in his late 20s and between jobs. He was always drawing on his jeans and shoes before class started. Aziraphale enjoyed seeing how the patters and designs unfolded across various garments week to week. _Lawrence_ worked in finance – that was all Aziraphale knew about him. He talked even less than Oscar and he never really seemed to smile. His drawings were wonderful though. Next to Mariah’s they were usually the best in the class. _Beth and Amanda_ were sisters, both married with kids. It was their one night away from their families and they enjoyed every minute of it. They usually came in after a couple of glasses of wine but, occasionally, they brought a few bottles inside with them. Dave would roll his eyes and start to protest, but they would wrap the instructor up in kind words and big hugs and that would be the end of it. They laughed easily, cracked jokes, and made the class _fun_. He always thought Crowley would like them the best out of all his classmates. Perhaps, once Aziraphale told him the truth, Crowley might actually tag along.

Aziraphale felt something flutter deep inside his chest and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. Wouldn’t that be _something_. But that fluttery feeling quickly turned to panic. _No_. Besides Mariah and Lynette, Aziraphale had also mentioned Crowley to the sisters in not so many words. He hadn’t mentioned him by name but he had let a few _feelings_ slip out over the past year. If Aziraphale showed up with the demon in tow, they would absolutely piece it together and they weren’t exactly known for their discretion.

Well, so much for that idea.

Aziraphale took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and fastened the apron around his waist.

Mariah and Lynette arrived minutes before the rest of the group. They saw Aziraphale and waved – moving to set up on either side of him. For weeks they had been trying to get him to attend Dave’s Thursday class as well. It was for more advanced students, but that didn’t really matter. So far he had been able to resist, but they were getting more insistent and he was running out of excuses. They were also always trying to set him up and Aziraphale had been unable to find a good way to tell them that he simply wasn’t interested.

“You should have been there on _Thursday_!” Lynette shoved a biscuit tin into Aziraphale’s hands. He smiled and helped himself. “Show him your sketchbook,” she nodded to Mariah.

For as talented as Mariah was, she was painfully shy about showing off her work. She turned multiple shades of pink before handing the sketches over to Lynette. Flipping through, Lynette finally landed on what she was looking for.

Aziraphale gaped.

“I _know_ ,” Lynette laughed.

The figure was draped across an armchair, long legs dangling over one side, head reclined back over the other, hair in rippling waves that pooled on the floor. It didn’t look comfortable, Aziraphale noted, but it looked...it looked…

_Familiar_. His heart ached.

He missed Crowley.

“He’s coming back next week too,” Mariah’s quiet voice chimed in. “It would be great if you could come.”

“Sexy. He was _sexy_ \- all legs, all the way up. Do you see this?” Lynette stabbed a finger into the sketchbook. “This doesn’t even compare to the real thing. And so very, _very_ naked.”

Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed. He glanced back down at the drawing and quickly blushed. Not that he could see much from that angle anyways. Not that he was looking. Lynette snatched the book back and handed it to Mariah. She then grabbed Aziraphale’s arm tight and _shook_.

“Ow – “

“Look! He’s _here_.”

They had never tried to set him up with someone in person before and he was certainly not ready for that _tonight._ But, at Lynette’s insistence, Aziraphale turned to look.

Sure enough, Dave was helping the model get set up for today’s class. It wasn’t a nude from what Aziraphale could tell. Most of the model was blocked by Dave’s broad shoulders, but Aziraphale definitely saw something resembling a toga. He relaxed a bit. Nudity didn’t make him uncomfortable, but Lynette seemed determined to introduce them. Aziraphale would decline anything more, _of course_ , but the whole thing would be easier if everyone kept their clothes on. The model’s legs were just as long as advertised, and that apparently meant that the wrapped garment fell much higher than it should have. It also appeared to be missing the tunic underneath, but by the time Aziraphale noticed _that_ he had noticed something far more concerning.

_Crowley._ The model was Crowley.

His mouth fell open and his eyes went wide.

He stared. 

The “toga” was inaccurate and far too short – it barely touched the middle of Crowley’s thighs. Long, bare legs climbed up and up and _up_ and Aziraphale followed them with hungry eyes. He glossed over the poor costume choice and instead focused on the length of bare arms and the sliver of chest he could see. Crowley’s hair had been growing out for a while now but Aziraphale had never seen it look like _this_. The soft jumble of curls was brushed over one shoulder and cascaded down well past his collarbone.

Without realizing it, Aziraphale had taken a step forward. He also hadn’t realized the demon was staring at him with the same look that was equal parts confusion and something else – something old and ancient and _forbidden_. 

-

Thursday had been good practice even if he had been nude and the room had been far too cold to be comfortable. The students were quiet and focused on their work and the two hours came and went without much a fuss. Hiding his eyes was easier than he thought too – they were still yellow, but it didn’t take much of a demonic miracle for the humans to simply not notice. It wouldn’t work on demons or Aziraphale, but humans were comfortable with what was expected and that is exactly what they saw.

He knew Tuesday would be the real challenge.

Initially, he had said no to Tuesdays. He really had. It had not been his intent to crash Aziraphale’s class, especially without some kind of warning, but _Dave_ had insisted and then, in the days that followed, Crowley wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

So, instead, he had just shown up at 5:45 and waited for instructions. This class had never worked with a live model before and he wanted to give them a mixture of movement and expression. The costume itself was a joke and didn’t fit properly, but Crowley didn’t _hate_ it. It was only two hours after all. At least he wouldn’t be naked this time around – that might have complicated things with his angel.

_The angel_. Not _his_ – not _really_. Not yet.

What Crowley hadn’t anticipated, was Aziraphale standing in what appeared to be new clothes. The shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing skin Crowley hadn’t seen in over a millennia, and his shirt, normally buttoned up tight with a protective bowtie holding it all in place, was now open to the 2nd button revealing a hint of pale skin. He looked downright casual and something inside of Crowley sank to depths he couldn’t fathom. Aziraphale was comfortable here – comfortable in a way he couldn’t be around Crowley for reasons that probably should have been obvious to him from the start. 

Maybe he _shouldn’t_ have come.

The staring had gone on long enough. Stepping down from the small platform, Crowley intended to walk over to Aziraphale to apologize, but the angel was already moving quickly towards him.

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale whispered.

“Ehhh,” Crowley gestured down to the white fabric that clung tight to his body. “Modeling?”

“Yes, I can see that,” he snapped, but before he could continue, _Dave_ came over and clapped a sturdy hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

_Dave_.

The one saving grace was that Aziraphale didn’t seem at all comforted by _Dave’s_ reassuring touch or by his presence. In fact, he had tensed up completely when _Dave_ approached.

“I see you two have met! Wonderful,” _Dave_ beamed. Now was really not the time. “Anthony here modeled for us last week as well. He has infinite patience.”

_Oh you have no idea._

“I’m sure he does,” Aziraphale’s voice was uncharacteristically cold and Crowley decided right then and there he did not like it one bit.

“Who would have guessed, right? Came in for a gift for his friend and the now he’s here with us. We’ll make an art lover out of you yet,” _Dave_ laughed.

The three of them stood there for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“Is everything alright?” _Dave_ finally asked when the tension reached a breaking point.

“Great,” Crowley smiled at Aziraphale.

“Tickety-boo,” the angel stared back at Crowley.

_Dave_ was clearly unsure of what to make of this, but fairly satisfied with their answers, he left to greet the rest of the students.

“You…wily…” Aziraphale blustered. “Bookshop. Immediately after class.” And with that he stormed back to his easel.

-

It was the longest two hours of Aziraphale’s life.

He wanted to be angry – _why_ , he wasn’t really sure, but he felt like he ought to be. _The audacity_ , he thought. How had Crowley figured it out? Did he have Aziraphale followed? Would he do that?

The angel looked at Crowley with a pang of sadness.

They were hereditary enemies – Aziraphale should have expected to be double crossed.

But they weren’t enemies and that was the _problem_. Crowley was as familiar and as comfortable as his bookshop. He was a worthy adversary to be sure, but he was the kind that you could have drinks with after. Someone you could share a laugh with. Someone Aziraphale could take out for sushi when he didn’t want to dine alone.

This was all Aziraphale’s fault. He wasn’t sure why or how Crowley had manipulated his way into modeling for Aziraphale’s class, but he was certain that if he had just told the truth they wouldn’t be here, staring at each other across a room full of art students, pretending like they didn’t have a history that spanned all of recorded time.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

The other problem, the slightly more _confusing_ problem as far as Aziraphale was concerned, was the fact that seeing Crowley like _this_ was bringing certain other feelings to the surface that Aziraphale simply didn’t know what to do with. There had been plenty of nights where Aziraphale had almost been caught staring inappropriately at the demon. Crowley was now, and had always been, _alluring_. If he wasn’t careful, Aziraphale’s mind could easily wander along Crowley’s delicate features, imagining what it would be like if they weren’t on opposite sides. Imagining what it would be like if, instead of mapping out the contours of Crowley’s face and neck with his eyes, he could do with his fingertips or maybe even his lips.

That was before, when all he could see was Crowley’s face and his neck and his hands, but now – now Aziraphale found a whole new uncharted territory he desperately wanted to explore. And on top of all that, he wasn’t just _encouraged_ to look, he was expected to look. Commit it to memory. Put it on paper.

No. His own fault or not, Aziraphale was angry that Crowley had shown up uninvited.

Aziraphale stared more than he drew, but when he finally picked up the pencil, he found the lines and curves came far easier to him than they ever had before.

He might be angry, but it was his best work yet.

-

After class, Aziraphale had watched Crowley dip out of the shop. He itched to follow him, they certainly had _things_ to discuss, but he needed to clean up his station and he needed to _think_.

He would hear Crowley out. Give him a chance to explain.

He hoped they could go from there.

-

The demon was propped up against his car when Aziraphale caught up to him. His long hair was pulled up and away from his face and he was back in his normal layers of black that clung to him as if their very existence depended on it. He also had his sunglasses on, a fact that Aziraphale had been too distracted to notice earlier.

He stopped and stared at Crowley.

“You weren’t wearing them,” was all he said, but Crowley knew what he meant. Even hidden in the dark, Aziraphale could feel the demon’s eyes on him – watching him, trying to anticipate his mood.

When Crowley finally spoke, his voice was missing most of its bravado and almost all of its usual confidence. He was quiet, uncertain – possibly even sorry.

“They saw what they expected to see.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know – Blue? Green? Brown?” He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Aziraphale took a step back from where the car was parked and marched across the street to his shop. Crowley followed on his heels.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but Aziraphale knew it wasn’t _this_. If pressed, the angel would have to admit that he thought Crowley would be waiting to explain, to apologize, to say _something_ at all about it. Crowley was quiet and possibly waiting to judge Aziraphale’s reaction, but _still_. It was Crowley who needed to explain – wasn’t it?

Oh, he couldn’t take it anymore. Before he reached the door, Aziraphale spun around and nearly barreled right into Crowley.

“Why go at all?” He wasn’t even angry, he just wanted to know _why_. Had Crowley come to embarrass him? Was it all some sort of joke? He worked it all out and wanted to have some sort of _gotcha_ moment. That didn’t feel like something Crowley would do, but what other reason could there be?

“Why lie about going to an art class?” Crowley countered.

Aziraphale didn’t have a good answer to that so he promptly chose to ignore the question.

“How did you even figure it out, anyways? Did you have one of your _lackeys_ follow me?”

“ _Lackey_? No! _I_ followed you.”

“Crowley!”

“I meant,” he sighed. “I _saw_ you. I was coming to see you. It’s like two blocks over, angel. I was coming to see you but then I _saw_ you…you know, go in and….”

Aziraphale’s face soured.

“And then I…went back a couple days later,” Crowley continued with the best nonchalant shrug he could muster. Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but Crowley held up a hand, effectively silencing him. He walked over to where his car was parked, opened up the backseat, and pulled out a small wrapped package. Aziraphale waited for him on the stoop, now absolutely determined to be upset with him. Or, at least he _was_ , until Crowley slipped the package into his hands.

“What’s this?”

It was clearly a book, Aziraphale could tell by the feel of it, and he thought back to earlier. Dave had mentioned Crowley had been in his shop looking for a gift for a friend. _A_ _friend_. A blush rose up and kissed Aziraphale’s cheeks.

“Oh,” he couldn’t help but smile down at the plain paper wrapping. Simple, but the color, a soft robin egg blue, warmed Aziraphale’s heart. He ran his fingers along the twine that wrapped up and around and looped into a pretty sort of hand-tied bow. Carefully, Aziraphale slipped it open and removed the paper to reveal a leather bound book. It looked older than it was and had a small metallic latch that resembled wings - specifically, angel wings. 

It was beautiful - so very beautiful.

His fingers moved with something close to reverence as he gently turned the book over in his hands. Lingering on the angelic symbol, everything suddenly blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. “Crowley…” he started to say, but his voice shook.

When Aziraphale didn’t continue, Crowley reached in and unhooked the latch. Sure enough, it was filled with blank pages – crisp, untouched, and waiting for Aziraphale to bring them to life.

“It’s a sketchbook,” Crowley said. “I wasn’t sure if you had one. Didn’t see one around your shop. Figured – eh? Couldn’t hurt. Then _what’s-his-name_ asked if I would be interested in modeling and I figured – you know, might be fun. It’s been ages since I sat for anyone. So for the next few weeks, Tuesdays and Thursdays, I’ll be there. ”

Crowley’s words barely registered. Aziraphale was far too preoccupied flipping through the empty pages and holding back his tears. They might not be able to say it properly, they might not be able to act on it, but gestures like this – and there were many gestures just as thoughtful and sincere and _touching_ as this one – well, they were all Aziraphale needed to remind him that Crowley _loved_ him. No matter what they were to each other – angel, demon, enemies, acquaintances, _definitely_ - _not-friends_ – it didn’t matter. Crowley loved him and Aziraphale desperately loved him back. Even though he shouldn’t. He really, _really_ shouldn’t.

_Thank you_ , he thought. _It’s perfect. It’s lovely. It’s_ –

But Aziraphale said none of those things. Instead, Crowley’s words echoed in his head and something caught his attention. When he finally looked up, he searched Crowley’s face for any indication he had misheard.

“ _Thursdays_? My class is only on Tuesday.”

Even from behind glasses, Aziraphale could tell Crowley had rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t _trying_ to barge in on your class, angel. He needed a model both days. It’s only for a couple weeks. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

He didn’t want Crowley out of his hair. Not really. After the initial surprise had worn off, Aziraphale had to admit it was nice having him there. It was nice walking back to the shop knowing that Crowley would be waiting for him. It was nice knowing that he would probably be sticking around for a few drinks.

It was nice knowing that they had the next few Tuesdays together.

“Good,” Aziraphale said instead. He looked back down at the book and then up at his _friend_. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Shut up,” Crowley smiled.

“I mean it. I wanted to be angry with you, but…this...”

Before Aziraphale could react, Crowley was on him, backing him up against the door to the bookshop with nothing more than a quick step and a closeness that Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with. Flustered, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s jacket with his free hand and clutched the book tight to his chest with the other, anything to steady himself. Crowley’s hands also found the book and, with the slightest bit of pressure, used it to pin the angel in place.

There was too much space between them. Aziraphale ached to draw Crowley close – to feel his lithe body pressed up against his own. He recalled bare arms and never ending legs that he was able to feast on, visually, not even an hour ago. In hidden moments he would absolutely never admit to, Aziraphale had imagined kissing Crowley like this, pressed up against his bookshop door, wanton and utterly consumed by the demon. Keys fumbled and lost. Hands that glided over fabric, buttons that fell to the ground, forgotten. In these fantasies the only worry he had was that someone would see them – not because they were an angel and a demon, but because they were about to do things that are frowned upon, if not outright illegal, in public.

“There is a caveat,” Crowley leaned in and Aziraphale found himself once again somewhere between _oh Crowley, please_ and _we can’t_. Their faces were a breath apart, noses almost touching and Aziraphale just stood there, completely frozen with indecision. If Crowley wasn’t also holding onto the book, Aziraphale’s trembling hands would have certainly dropped it and that would hardly be the proper way to thank Crowley for, well, for once again being so very _him_.

Him.

Aziraphale wanted _him_. He _wanted_ Crowley. He wanted him exactly as they were now and in all the ways he knew he could never, ever have him. 

“C – Caveat?” he managed to squeak out after an eternity of waiting – hoping - _wanting_. What he was looking for, he wasn’t quite sure, but if Crowley kissed him, Aziraphale wouldn’t mind at all.

Aziraphale swallowed hard over the lump in his throat and leaned in closer...

“I get to peek,” Crowley tapped on the book, snapping Aziraphale out of his reverie. And just as quickly as Crowley had entered Aziraphale’s personal space, he was gone. The angel missed the closeness immediately and that small, rebellious part of him that always seemed to come to life whenever Crowley was around, wanted to reach out, grab Crowley, and pull him back where he belonged.

On the other hand, Aziraphale also felt unbelievably relieved to have some distance between them.

He straightened his jacket and fumbled for his keys. It took a moment, but he was finally able to collect himself. “If you insist, my dear, but if you’re interested in sketches you really ought to look at Mariah’s. Did you meet her tonight? She’s far too advanced for our humble group, but we’re happy to have her all the same. Next week I’ll introduce you. She’s ever so good.”

There was a look on Crowley’s face that Aziraphale couldn’t fully process. Perhaps he was imagining it. He must be. It was heartbreakingly tender, even obscured as it was by those damn glasses, and seemed to imply that the demon didn’t want to see _sketches_ , but that he wanted to specifically see _Aziraphale’s_ sketches. Aziraphale did his best to dismiss the thought – he chalked it up to a long, unpredictable night.

“I haven’t met her but she’s in the Thursday class as well.”

_That’s right, Dave had mentioned…_. Aziraphale unlocked the shop door and almost tripped over the threshold. _Lynette had said_ …

“You alright?” Crowley asked.

_Had said_ …

The sketches Lynette had showed off floated up to the front of his mind. The long limbs, the narrow hips – the model had been draped over a chair rather salaciously and Aziraphale felt his cheeks grow hot as the final piece of a puzzle he didn’t know he was constructing snapped into place. How had he missed that?

Aziraphale turned as if to say something – he was almost certain Crowley had asked him a question, but he promptly changed his mind and stalked back to where a few bottles of wine would be waiting, and, if he was piecing things together correctly, _desperately_ needed.


	2. Chapter 2

The night had gone better than Crowley had expected.

The class itself was fine enough. There were only five students in attendance, including Aziraphale, which had made the room feel much more intimate compared to the class on Thursday.

There had been something exciting about having the angel’s eyes all over him _._ There had been something _especially_ exciting about having the angel’s eyes all over him while they pretended to be strangers. He knew that Aziraphale cared for him in a way that an angel definitely _should no_ t care for a demon, but tonight Aziraphale had looked at Crowley like he was _wanted_. Specifically, like he was something _Aziraphale_ wanted. 

_Desired_.

That’s how Crowley felt.

Not lust. Not temptation. Nothing that even remotely went hand in hand with being a demon. Just pure, honest _desire_. Desire coming from someone who knew him, from someone who had known him since the beginning – coming from the one person in all of Creation who understood him.

There had been moments, here and there, scattered across their shared timeline, where he had caught Aziraphale looking at him with the hint of _something else_ in his eyes. Before Crowley could even process it, Aziraphale’s attention would shift and the angel would be all too careful not let it slip again. It didn’t happen often, but these were the moments Crowley _craved_.

_You go to fast for me_.

Fine. _Slow_. He could go as slow as Aziraphale wanted for as long as he needed, even if Aziraphale kept looking at him _like that_. _Especially_ if Aziraphale kept looking at him like that. Crowley could wait another six thousand years if Aziraphale would just keep looking at him like he had tonight.

Crowley had never felt so _alive_.

Tonight, he had watched as the angel’s eyes worked their way up his body, lingering here and there - _indulging,_ like the demon was something to be feasted upon. Aziraphale had been flushed and perhaps even a little bit anxious, but he rarely looked away. Visually, he took all of Crowley in and the rest of the class faded into the background. It was just him and Aziraphale and during those two hours, nothing in all of Heaven, Earth, or Hell mattered.

_Touch me_ , the thought had echoed in his head every time the angel’s gaze flickered down to the hem of the “toga”. Crowley imagined those soft, fastidious, perfectly manicured hands – always so delicate and particular with his old books – handling the demon with the same level of care and devotion. He thought about Aziraphale’s mouth, lips reddened from too much attention, tasting him slowly, the same way he savored and indulged in every bite of a good meal or one of his favorite desserts. He wondered if Aziraphale would make the same sort of satisfied sounds as his lips and tongue tasted Crowley’s own.

By the time Aziraphale approached him at his car after class, this idea had evolved and Crowley was rather preoccupied. He thought about how nice it would be for Aziraphale to don the white gloves that he always wore when handling _particularly_ fragile antiques. He pictured those gloved hands slowly moving across his body, stripping Crowley down to nothing – _indulging_ in every morsel of exposed skin. 

-

Why it hadn’t clicked before, Aziraphale could only guess, but it was absolutely clicking now and the angel’s mind was racing, trying to come to some sort of decision. He could go on Thursdays. He had been invited, after all. His attendance would hardly come as a surprise to Dave or Mariah and Lynette – well, it might be a surprise, but it wouldn’t be out of the blue. And, he reminded himself, there was nothing sinful or obscene about nudity. In fact he wasn’t sure why it was affecting him so much now. The human body was beautiful, he had always appreciated the different forms and shapes that Her creations took. Why should he act as though this was any different?

_Why did it_ _feel_ _so different?_

_Because it was Crowley_. He knew the answer before he had even formed the question in his mind. It was _Crowley_ and Crowley was _forbidden_. Nudity in general, even depicted in a sexual context, had never really done much for Aziraphale, but _Crowley_ ….

Crowley was a demon – sinful by definition.

But it was more than that – _so much more_ than just Crowley’s blatant physical appeal. When it came down to it, he loved Crowley in every single conceivable definition of the word and there was nothing he could do about it without risking them both. Aziraphale’s punishment would probably be a swift and decided Fall. But Crowley? Hell wasn’t exactly known for its mercy. Anything _more_ between them would mean the end of The Arrangement, the end of dinner dates and walks in the park, the end of a friendship as old as the world itself – and that was a risk Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was willing to take.

But perhaps he could _indulge_ a little bit…

Perhaps they both could.

With more confidence than he actually felt, Aziraphale said, “you know they have been trying to get me to come to the Thursday class.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up over the top of his sunglasses.

“I’ve been putting them off for so long, I’m running out of excuses. I _had_ considered going with them this week, before,” he paused, watching Crowley closely. His reaction would determine Aziraphale’s decision. “Well, I wouldn’t want to make things awkward for you.”

Holding up a freshly opened bottle of wine, Crowley nodded and took a long drink.

“S’fine.”

Aziraphale could feel his cheeks growing hot and he hoped they weren’t as red as they felt. “I saw a few of Mariah’s sketches from the last class and they looked - “ Aziraphale’s voice faltered. “Well, she’s certainly talented.”

The demon pursed his lips.

“Yep.”

“I really wouldn’t want to make you uneasy…”

“No-no-no,” Crowley said all too quickly. “Seriously. S’not a…. _thing_. _At all_.”

“Well after you’ve finished being the subject, you really ought to join us,” Aziraphale forced his warmest smile to hide the excitement bubbling up in his chest. “You’d be more than welcome.”

“Nah.” Again, Crowley answered all too quickly. Aziraphale’s face fell to new depths of disappointment. 

“Oh don’t look like that. It’s your thing, angel. _Besides_ ,” Crowley’s confidence snapped back into place and he relaxed into more familiar territory. “I’d put the whole class and that _instructor of yours_ to shame.”

“Oh you would, would you?”

His gaze lingered on Aziraphale for a long moment. Then, with a walk that was so unnecessarily sinuous it left Aziraphale’s legs weak and his mouth dry, Crowley moved towards him. Never once taking his eyes off of the angel, Crowley reached out and around, down to the desk, and flipped open the sketchbook to a page near the back.

It wasn’t until the demon spoke that Aziraphale followed his outstretched hand down to the book. “Well, I’ve had some time to practice.”

Reluctantly turning away from Crowley’s stare, Aziraphale hunched over his desk and found himself face to face with… himself.

Sort of.

_More or less_.

It was a sketch of a restaurant Aziraphale had frequented in Paris ages ago. It had been owned by an older, unmarried gentleman who had sold it off a year before his death. The new owners had changed the name and the menu and Aziraphale had moved on to other haunts.

The inside had been cramped, but the _outside_ – Crowley had truly captured the outside. He didn’t know how the demon was able to fit so much detail onto such a small page, but it was all there: the front of the restaurant with its large windows and marble pillars that framed the doorway, the striped awning, the clustered seating. He had even included a few patrons and a waiter, a young woman playing a violin in the street, and Aziraphale at his usual table. He couldn’t remember the name of the restaurant or the name of the original owner – he couldn’t even remember when exactly he had been there last, but he remembered that the old man had always brought him the most delicious plate of _merveilles_ on the house and that he had never, _ever_ dined there with Crowley.

But there he was, or at least Aziraphale thought it must be him walking down the street, past the woman with the violin. His back was to the viewer, and he kept to the shadows that Crowley had created, but he was the right build and dressed in Crowley’s signature black, and appeared to be moving with the same level of fluidity that Aziraphale couldn’t believe had been captured in a drawing. _Really_ \- how else would Crowley have been able to accurately depict the spot if he hadn’t been there himself.

He really did put everyone else to shame.

It took a few minutes for Aziraphale to find his voice. “My dear…”

He looked up – he wanted to see Crowley’s face and ask him _why, why didn’t you join me_ , but the demon was already walking out the front door of the shop and into the night.

Aziraphale looked back down at the drawing. In the corner, where the artist’s signature should be, instead of _Crowley_ , or _Anthony_ , or any variation of his name, there was a small serpent coiled around what appeared to be a sword.

The angel felt love radiating from the page, from the book, from the little sketch of _himself_ – it was familiar and old and threatened to devour him whole.

It took a _little_ miracle to the remove the page without tearing it, while keeping the sketchbook intact, but he wouldn’t have either damaged if he could help it. _Just let Gabriel try and call this frivolous_ , Aziraphale could feel the righteous anger blaze up inside of him at the very thought.

Holding the picture up against the wall above his desk, Aziraphale smiled.

_Perfect_.

He would have to find a suitable frame in the morning.

-

They didn’t talk again until Thursday.

He had considered calling Crowley and inviting him out for drinks or for lunch – anything that would get them together in the same place, but had ultimately decided against it. Crowley had left the shop without saying goodbye. It hadn’t bothered Aziraphale at first, but as the days passed, he was starting to wonder if something had gone wrong between them.

It wasn’t as if Crowley was calling him, either.

Thursday morning he told himself not to worry – he would see the demon later on that night. But if for some reason Crowley wasn’t there, then Aziraphale would have his answer. He would fix it – call him up after class ended and sort everything out. And if Crowley was there, he could invite him over for drinks and let the evening take them wherever it wanted to go.

_Wherever_ it wanted to go.

He had been thinking about that a lot over the past few days.

Although he had hoped the demon would stop by before he closed up for the night, Aziraphale wasn’t surprised when Crowley didn’t show. With an hesitant smile on his face and a brand new suit, he walked over to Art’s Heart and started setting up.

Compared to Tuesday, Thursday’s class was _crowded_. He had to maneuver around people just to gather up his things. Thankfully, Mariah had come in only a minute or so after him and was more than happy to rush on over and claim the seat next to his.

“Lynette was called into work – I almost stayed home,” she admitted as she started unpacking her bag. Aziraphale was pleased to see her, but he was a bit too distracted looking for Crowley to really pay attention to what she was saying. He nodded along and smiled dutifully, but his eyes were busy scanning the room.

“I’m so glad you’ve finally come,” she continued. “Lyn’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

“ _Oh yes_ ,” Aziraphale said more to himself than to her. Wearing nothing but a white cotton robe, Crowley had entered the room a few paces behind Dave. The demon’s eyes were full blown yellow, though no one else seemed to notice, and they immediately fell to Aziraphale. The angel moved around the easel and through the crowd to greet him. “Do give her my regard,” he called back to Mariah as he walked away. 

The look on Crowley’s face was just as hard to read as ever, but his gaze slithered over the angel’s new suit and focused on the _once-again-absent_ bowtie. Aziraphale could almost _feel_ him along the sliver of skin that was now visible and aching for attention.

He had to clear his throat before speaking. “Bit of a bigger turn out than I was expecting.”

Crowley looked around the room as if he hadn’t been aware that there were other people in it.

“ Mm – yup,” was all he replied.

“I can leave. Really, I wouldn’t dream – "

“No,” the demon’s brows pulled together and he took a step closer to Aziraphale. “No. I’m glad you’re here.”

“ _Oh_. Marvelous. Well I’m certainly looking forward to it. Why don’t you come by after. I found the perfect frame for your picture. You’ll have to tell me what you think.”

Crowley looked surprisingly touched and he blushed all the way from his neck up to his ears. Aziraphale had never seen anything so beautiful.

“You really do put the everyone to shame,” he beamed – finally repeating Crowley’s words out loud. “Could certainly teach me a few things.” Crowley cocked an eyebrow, but the angel nervously rambled on. “Still, I would love for you to join us on Tuesdays.”

“I don’t know – wouldn’t want to pick up any bad habits,“ the demon’s voice was low and his eyes dropped down to Aziraphale’s lips.

The angel took the final step possible towards him and swallowed hard over the offer building up in his throat. “Well, if you ever want to get back into it - I would be happy to sit for you.”

Crowley’s face was impassive and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Just when Aziraphale was ready to retreat to the safety of his easel, the demon leaned in close, his breath warm against Aziraphale’s ear.

“ _Oh angel,_ I know what you look like.”

-

Flustered and incredibly overheated, Aziraphale moved back to his spot among the sea of students and hung his new jacket over the back of the chair.

He couldn’t bring himself to watch Crowley get into position and instead focused completely on his very pleasant conversation with Mariah. Lynette hated her job – _I’m so sorry to hear it, remind me what she does_? Their cat recently had kittens – _oh my dear how wonderful, what are their names, have you sketched them yet of course you have and how lovely it turned out aren’t you so talented_. But when she tried to bring up the new model _Anthony_ , Aziraphale was quick to dispel any ideas she might have picked up over the last week – _no we’ve only just met, we definitely don’t know each other but he seems like a very nice man and how good of him to join us once again_.

Aziraphale was staring intently at the blank paper in front of him when Dave’s voice boomed out overtop the talking students. His instructions were clear: get up and walk around the room, find the most interesting angle and move your seat accordingly.

“This is about _your_ perspective. I don’t want to see twenty-odd pictures of the same pose.” Dave walked over to the chaise lounge where Crowley was elegantly draped. His legs were stretched out down the length of the sofa and his feet were hanging over the edge. Crowley’s torso was slightly twisted as his chin perched against the armrest. One arm drifted up and over, next to his face while the other was down with the rest of his body.

Centered with the middle of the platform, Aziraphale found himself not wanting to move at all. Most of the other students, Mariah included, had started walking around the room, eyeing up the scene in front of them. They were all very courteous, looking at Crowley as if he were nothing more than a perfectly crafted statue while the demon stared off into the distance. Mariah claimed a spot near the door, directly in front of Crowley’s face. For a moment, Aziraphale considered joining her. He wanted Crowley’s eyes on _him_ and him alone, like they had been on Tuesday. But from where he was seated now, Aziraphale could see Crowley in his entirety and soon an image formed in his mind. Inspired, he turned back to the blank page in front of him and began to bring that image to life.

-

Time felt like it was dragging and Crowley wished he had faced the clock on the other side of the room instead of the storage cupboards he was now staring at. The sound of pencils scratching against paper was soothing in its own sort of way, and Crowley felt his eyes growing tired. Two of the students who were _definitely-not-Aziraphale_ had sat down in his direct line of sight a few feet back from the small stage, but everyone else was spread out of his peripheral vision.

“You mind if I rest my eyes?” He asked. Two heads popped out from around the side of their easels.

“Go ahead,” the young man said as he promptly returned to his work.

The woman from Aziraphale’s class looked like she wanted to say something but knew that it wouldn’t be received well. It took her a moment but she finally said, “could…could I please have another minute or so? Almost got them.”

He nodded. “Just let me know.”

A few minutes later she peaked out again and smiled. Satisfied, Crowley let his eyes fall shut and his mind wander. He thought about Aziraphale’s offer and he let himself dwell on the very tantalizing _idea_ of potentially switching places. Aziraphale draped naked over a chair. Aziraphale naked and stretched out over the chaise. Aziraphale naked in the middle of his bookshop while Crowley sat fully dressed over a blank sketchbook. He wouldn’t stop drawing until that entire book was filled.

_Talk about temptation_. 

Crowley was _so_ lost in his thoughts that he initially didn’t realize the object of his idle wanderings was engaged in a rather heated discussion. Although he couldn’t make out the words at first, he could hear the angel’s frustration in his voice.

_Look_.

  
He didn’t. He kept his eyes shut tight and tried to focus on what was being said. A few of the other students had started talking as well and it took a lot of concentration to pick out anything from the individual conversations.

“All I’m saying – just add _something_ to make it clear,” he heard _Dave’s_ voice say.

“But that’s the point,” Aziraphale whined. “It’s not _meant_ to be clear.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open and he couldn’t resist. He turned his head slightly to check on his angel. Inside, something dark and buried down deep clawed to get out.

Aziraphale was completely red in the face. He wasn’t just flustered, he was _upset_. Crowley felt his skin crawl. Tuesday, the angel had been unburdened, casual, _free_ in a way that warmed Crowley’s heart. But tonight, Aziraphale looked like he wanted nothing more than to storm out of the room.

Aziraphale’s gaze flickered from _Dave_ to Crowley and Crowley watched as his angel saw a face that was definitely not supposed to be looking back at him. He immediately softened – Crowley watched with a satisfaction he couldn’t even begin to put into words as Aziraphale’s shoulders lost all their tension and his hand relaxed from the tight grip he held on his pencil. Crowley wondered why Aziraphale looked a little embarrassed, but at least he was smiling now – it was small, but it was meant for Crowley. Crowley held his gaze and smiled before turning back to his original position.

-

It had certainly felt longer than his regular class. His drawing was mostly unfinished, especially compared to everyone else’s in the room. Aziraphale had focused more on what _wasn’t_ in front of him instead of what _was_ \- he captured the general shape of the sofa, he had put a little more detail into Crowley’s long limbs and hair, but he had spent the majority of his time tonight on the _wings_. They way Crowley was seated, all Aziraphale could imagine was his beautiful black wings outstretched behind him. It had been too long since he had seen them and he wished he knew how to persuade Crowley to show them off every once in a while.

He drew Crowley’s wings partially as he remembered them and partially as he imagined them – large and black, they encompassed (or would when the picture was finished) the entire top left corner of the page. Much larger than his wings were naturally, but that’s what artistic liberties were for. 

Even though they were over on time, Aziraphale kept drawing – trying to hurry and finish off a few areas. But, eventually Dave handed Crowley his robe and that was it for his reference. He turned his attention to the details he had missed along the chaise as everyone else around him started to gather up their things.

When he was satisfied enough with how the picture was coming out, in the bottom corner, Aziraphale lightly sketched out a sword standing upright. Pausing, he looked over to the hallway that lead to the storage closet where Crowley was probably getting changed back into his clothes. He thought back to Eden, to the day they first met, and began to map out large, winding curves around the hilt of the sword. Crowley had been a rather large snake and Aziraphale hadn’t seen him take the shape since, but he did his best. When he finished the body he stopped and stared – what in all of _Hell_ did a snake’s head look like? He thought he could picture it, but the harder he tried, the less he could remember.

“Almost ready, angel?” Crowley asked as he walked up, his face popping into view above the easel.

“Yes,” Aziraphale looked around room. He hadn’t realized that most of the other students had already left. “Terribly sorry.”

“No rush.”

Before Aziraphale could protest, Crowley came around and stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, gazing down at the drawing. The angel was too embarrassed to look at his face. From his peripheral vision though, he could tell Crowley wasn’t looking at the sword or snake, but at the rest of the drawing. It might not be the best _technical_ work in the room, but it was certainly was the most _accurate_.

Still, he wasn’t sure how Crowley would react.

“I can explain.”

Crowley shook his head. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “You don’t have to.”

“He was talking about perspective...”

“Really. It’s fine - “

Dave made his way over to check on them, interrupting their conversation. Clearly annoyed by the intrusion, Aziraphale tugged at his apron and walked away to start cleaning up his own mess.

“Really well done,” Dave smiled at the drawing.

“Yes,” Crowley enthusiastically agreed. “Wonderful… _.lines_.”

Dave laughed heartily at Crowley’s clueless motions around the page. For a simple lie, the demon was sure laying it on thick. Dave didn’t seem to notice.

-

The truth of it was, Aziraphale’s drawing touched something deep inside of him, something that was still raw after all these millennia.

The drawing might not look exactly like what had been in front of him, but there was something _careful_ , tender even, about Aziraphale’s work. Every line looked like it was done with love and a level of ethereal understanding that no other artist Crowley had ever known could match.

A true angelic perspective.

Well, maybe it wasn’t an _angelic_ perspective. Those other angels could never look at this world and see the beauty in the day to day simplicity that _his_ angel took to so naturally. It was Aziraphale’s perspective.

Aziraphale’s perspective of _him_.

He wanted to reach out and touch the presented image of himself, to trace the soft lines that made up his wings and feathers, his angles and curves, his very human looking form juxtaposed to the celestial splendor of angel wings.

He wanted to _feel_ the way Aziraphale saw him.

“I still think you could use horns,” _Dave’s_ cheerful voice broke through Crowley’s reflection. He had completely forgotten the man was there. 

“ _Horns_?”

“All I see is an angel.”

“It’s a demon,” Crowley practically hissed. He didn’t bother looking at _Dave_ as he corrected him. He didn’t need to.

“Black wings don’t turn what is _clearly an angel_ into a demon.”

Well, Crowley had to concede his point there. Having dark wings did not, in fact, make him a demon in real life or in the drawing in front of him. And yes, he knew what Dave was getting at but he really, _really_ didn’t care. Of course no human would look at this drawing and think _demon_ , but this drawing wasn’t for humans.

It was for _him_.

“Aren’t demons just fallen angels?”

“ _Traditionally_ ,” Dave laughed. “But looking at it, what makes _him_ a demon?”

Pausing for a moment to think, Crowley finally sighed. “What he did. What he does.”

Somewhere lost within him, he was still sort of an angel. Maybe not a _proper_ one, he certainly wasn’t _holy_ , but he looked like he could be. Demons could do miracles, they could even bless people - Crowley certainly had over the years. He had done it for Aziraphale and he had done it for himself, because he wasn’t like _them_. He would never be like the other demons. It was the same reason he tempted. He might not have _wanted_ to fall, but he wasn’t angelic either.

No, Aziraphale had truly captured him. Not angelic enough to be worthy of Heaven, not demonic enough to fully commit to Hell. Crowley was a former angel without a proper side. Alone, save for one particular angel who saw something in him that no one else had, and too much contact there would mean the end of them both.

With a shrug, Dave walked back to his storefront leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone together in the empty classroom. As he turned to face Aziraphale, Crowley couldn’t help but feel _seen_ for the first time in a very long time.

-

“It couldn’t have been comfortable, sitting like that for so long,” Aziraphale smiled over at Crowley as they walked back to Aziraphale’s shop. It was a crisp, cool night and, even though it was a short walk, the angel had wished he had worn a warmer coat.

Crowley offered his arm and Aziraphale took it.

“Eh – not the worst I’ve done.”

Glancing over at each other from the corner of their eyes, Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer and slowed his step.

“Sculptor, “ Crowley continued. “She had a real eye for it but no formal training. Had spent most her life in the convent.”

Aziraphale came to a stop and turned to look at the demon, disapproval and judgement all over his face. “ _Spent_ – you tempted a nun? Really, is _nothing_ sacred?”

“ _Former_ nun. She left that life behind years before I met her. And I didn’t tempt her,” he corrected. “Technically I tempted the priest.”

They made their way into the bookshop and fell into what had become a bit of a usual routine. Crowley picked out a bottle of wine, Aziraphale found the glasses and, finally alone together, they relaxed.

“So, is this where you tell me that you inspired some culturally significant work of art?” Aziraphale hummed into his wine glass. It would hardly be the first time.

“She died before she could finish.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale frowned. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

Crowley dismissed it. “She was in her eighties and this was…” he paused to think. “17 – 18 _hundred_ something? She made it longer than most, then. Went peacefully in her sleep. Not the point. The point is – the statue. _Icarus_.”

_Wings_. Aziraphale hid his smile with a big sip of wine.

“So, I’m sitting as if I’m in flight,” he lifted his feet up off the group and wobbled as he balanced on the edge of Aziraphale’s sofa. He stretched both of his arms up over his head, nearly spilling his wine, and leaned to the side. “Had bruises down my hip and thigh for weeks.”

Crowley laughed and tossed back the rest of his drink. The angel was all too happy to offer a refill.

“I saw her sketches for the wings. Kept most of them, actually. After everything, I didn’t want someone else finding it.” Crowley finally continued. “Not as good as yours, though.”

“ _Crowley_ …”

“I mean it. To be fair, she was using various birds for reference and you’ve got the real thing. Wouldn’t mind sitting like that if you wanted.”

Aziraphale stared. “I – I don’t know. It’s a bit risky. What if someone saw?”

“What if someone saw us right now, angel?” Crowley sounded frustrated. Aziraphale had been referring to humans - Crowley had clearly meant their respective sides. Either one would land them in a pretty spectacular mess, but Crowley was right to be mindful of their present situation. For a brief moment, Aziraphale imagined Gabriel walking through the door to his shop and finding the two of them as they were now. He wouldn’t even know where to begin to explain. He wasn’t certain he would get the chance.

“Fair point,” Aziraphale conceded.

It’s not that he wasn’t open to the idea. He _longed_ to see Crowley as he was back in Eden. In fact, he almost couldn’t believe it was Crowley who had suggested it. His mind conjured an image of Crowley kneeling, wings black as the darkest night outstretched behind him. Not praying – _not exactly_. He was fairly certain Crowley wouldn’t go for that. Why else could he be kneeling? Maybe his hands could be on the ground as well. Not so much kneeling as simply falling to his knees. Long hair down and forward over onto bare –

_Wait_.

Had Crowley said he was naked in the intended sculpture? Aziraphale couldn’t recall. It was the first thing the angel had pictured when the image came to mind and he had no idea why.

No, he knew _why_. He just didn’t know what he was going to do about it.

“Inspired already?”

“It’s certainly something to think about,” Aziraphale hummed.

-

They had been drinking for hours. _Late_ had come and gone in the blink of an eye but neither Crowley nor Aziraphale wanted the night to come to an end just yet. They had talked about art and the artists they had known over the years, always with a fondness that implied good memories, but also with a vagueness that showed their age. The current conversation had segued back into music – a familiar topic they returned to as each record came to an end.

It was Crowley’s turn to pick, but Aziraphale was trying to sneak in one last request. He always went for Bach when he was this drunk, but the demon wanted something he could _move_ to.

“I just want to hear the - the one bit,” the angel stumbled and switched out the record before Crowley could complain. “Promise. Then it’s yours.”

As Aziraphale tried his best to move the stylus without incident, Crowley walked over and plucked the sketchbook he had gifted Aziraphale off the desk and began flipping through. All of the pages were now blank since the angel had removed the only one that had contained a drawing. Crowley’s eyes looked up at the recently framed work of art that now hung above the desk. He couldn’t help but smile.

“ _My dear_ , you should have joined me,” Aziraphale’s voice came from behind, as did his hand, as it landed soft and warm on Crowley’s lower back. Then Aziraphale was standing beside him and _smiling_ and Crowley found himself completely lost in the angel’s eyes and in the memories the drawing had brought to mind.

“We weren’t speaking then, angel,” Crowley said softly. He thought back to all those years they spent apart. Sleeping had got him through most of it, but he had kept tabs on Aziraphale as much as he could without being spotted. They might not have been friends at the time, but the angel had a knack for getting into trouble and Crowley wasn’t going to let some little tiff between them prevent him from being there, whenever needed, to bail him out.

The hand on Crowley’s back moved up between his shoulder blades and he melted against the gentleness of the touch, letting Aziraphale steady him as he swayed, drunkenly, to the music playing quietly in the distance.

After a moment, he handed the book over. “I’m going to sober up.”

“You’re leaving?”

It would be light outside soon and heading back would be the responsible thing to do, but Crowley wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere. Between the alcohol and Aziraphale and everything that the combination of the two brought to mind, Crowley was feeling a little overwhelmed and completely out of his depth. Aziraphale’s sofa was also calling his name and more than anything, the demon just wanted to sit back, relax, and stop himself from _going too fast_. 

“I don’t have to,” the demon grinned as he took a seat. A very drunk Aziraphale looked delighted.

They both sobered up and the angel dug out some mints he had stashed in his desk after their last all-nighter. It helped enough but Crowley couldn’t get the bitter taste that the wine had left behind out of his mouth. He tried sweeping the mints around and around, doing anything he could to just get rid of the taste, when he noticed that Aziraphale was watching him intently, with that wonderful look of _something_ in his eye.

As usual, as soon as Crowley noticed, Aziraphale looked down and away and turned a rather spectacular shade of pink. He coughed to clear his throat and held up the book.

“I don’t suppose you’d be up for it twice in one night?”

“Just tell me how you want me, angel.”

-

It was a miracle that Aziraphale hadn’t dropped the book or fallen out of his chair, though both seemed like perfectly reasonable reactions given the way Crowley was looking at him.

“ _Oh_ ,” the angel smiled while trying his hardest to not look as flustered as he felt. “I haven’t practiced faces much – yours is familiar. I thought it might be easier.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Compared to drawing someone else’s face,” Aziraphale clarified. “I thought I might get the chance to do it now, if you’re not in a hurry.”

“Then get on with it,” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale insisted he remain seated as he was, reclining back against the sofa in whatever position was most comfortable. His glasses were long gone hours ago, as was his jacket, and Aziraphale sat opposite from him, desk chair inched slightly closer to the sofa than it normally was.

Ultimately, he had opted against just the face, but couldn’t decide where to start. Aziraphale spent the first few minutes staring, trying to figure out just what he wanted to put to paper. It didn’t help that Crowley was watching him – yellow eyes drifting down and up, across his face – down to his hands that were very obviously _not drawing_ and then up to a spot below his eyes that Aziraphale tried very hard to assume was not his lips.

When he finally put his pencil to work, nothing was cooperating. Aziraphale was trembling and his palms were just slippery enough to make holding said pencil _difficult_ and moving it in an intended motion _impossible_.

Frustrated, Aziraphale let out a huff and sat back in his chair.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh it’s nothing,” the angel closed the book and placed it down on the desk. “I just pictured it going differently in my head.”

“Then draw that.”

“No – that’s not,” Aziraphale shook his head in confusion. “No, I meant….” His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out how to put it all into words. After a few moments of silence, Crowley cut in.

“I know what you _meant_. Draw whatever you like. I won’t look.”

Aziraphale’s eyes darted to Crowley and he stared, a nervous smile creeping across his face.

“What?”

“I know I said I’d look,” Crowley motioned to the desk where the sketchbook sat untouched. “I didn’t mean it. Not unless you want to show me.”

Aziraphale looked doubtful.

“I swear on…on…” he glanced around the shop for help. “ _Anything_. Everything. Alright?”

Reaching for the sketchbook, Aziraphale gave in to temptation.

-

There was something liberating about knowing that Crowley wouldn’t see whatever he chose to let loose. Aziraphale had turned the book to the side and opted to try and capture the entire _display_ in front of him. Crowley was still seated, but his right arm was now stretched out along the back of the sofa and his left leg was up and not quite crossed over the right, his ankle resting on his thigh. He looked open, casual – _comfortable_.

Aziraphale had managed to cover the page in a rough draft – the sofa, Crowley’s long legs, his height, his arm – it was all outlined in light, barely visible strokes. He could feel Crowley watching him more intently than before with a curiosity that Aziraphale couldn’t help but relish. It reminded him of their Tuesday song and dance and he wondered, with a small flicker of hope, if the demon would eventually pull out his old tricks to try and get a look at the drawings he had vowed to leave alone.

Perhaps he would pull out some of those old tricks a sooner rather than later if Aziraphale could pique his curiosity a little more. 

Taking a few deep breaths to center himself, he looked up at Crowley with the best poker face he could manage.

“Would you mind terribly,” he motioned to Crowley shirt. Specifically, he motioned to the buttons. The demon was still for moment and raised one very surprised eyebrow, but slowly he brought his hand over to his chest and undid the topmost button on his shirt. Well, the topmost button that was still buttoned. The first two hadn’t been closed all night.

When Aziraphale didn’t say anything, Crowley slid his finger down his chest and unhooked the next one - and then the next one – over and over until his shirt was open and a small sliver of skin trailed down and down and _down_. Aziraphale had meant to stop him after one, had only intended to ask him to open his shirt just a bit, but he had been increasingly distracted watching Crowley’s hand and the slow reveal of the demon’s skin. 

If only he could commit that entire moment to paper.

“Much better,” Aziraphale’s voice caught in his throat.

-

Maybe he could blame it on the wine – maybe it was the fact that Aziraphale had spent two hours staring at his naked body and was basically asking him to strip back down. Maybe it was because Crowley had been wanting _so much_ for _so long_ and now Aziraphale appeared openly _interested_. Well, whatever it was, the demon felt a newfound confidence. 

Apparently, so did Aziraphale.

“May I,” the angel asked quietly, sitting forward in his chair.

He didn’t know what Aziraphale meant and he didn’t care. Whatever he wanted – it was his.

Still, Crowley felt his stomach twist into several knots. He made a noise of affirmation that sort of sounded more like _m’corsthin_ than actual words. It was supposed to be either “of course” or “anything” but it just sort of tripped out in a jumbled breath.

Aziraphale leaned in and, very carefully, opened the shirt up where the bottom had bunched together on Crowley’s lap, purposefully not letting himself actually make direct contact with Crowley’s skin. Somehow that made it so much worse.

It’s not that they’ve never touched before. It had been thousands of years after all - their paths had crossed many times over many places and different social customs had often propelled them into interesting territory. Handshakes, hugs, kisses on the cheeks and occasionally on the lips had become commonplace in many cultures.

They had observed them all.

Alcohol had also played a part. There had been more than one occasion where hands ended up on knees, arms wrapped around shoulders, heads fell asleep in laps, and bodies had fallen over on top of each other in a mess of limbs and laughter.

One particular New Year’s Eve there had even been a celebratory kiss – a chaste meeting of lips that had lingered a little too long. Neither Crowley or Aziraphale had been drinking but both used wine as their excuse and laughed the whole thing off.

Aziraphale sat back in his chair. He took in the sight in front of him and Crowley watched with smug satisfaction as the angel started to blush. The demon slowly licked the residual taste of wine off his own bottom lip.

The angel couldn't look away.

-

The drawing was turning out _different_ than Aziraphale had originally intended. Maybe the wine had gone to his head, maybe too much _Crowley_ had gone to his head, maybe this was a terrible idea - but Aziraphale felt a pressing need to _finish_. He felt a pressing need to do a lot of things, but he let all of those unspoken _something_ s come through on the paper.

The Crowley he had drawn did resemble the Crowley sitting in front of him, but there was something else there as well. The Crowley on the page was unbuttoning his shirt in the exact same way the real Crowley had - a sight Aziraphale never wanted to forget. A finger was drifting lazily down his chest and his legs were splayed wide open instead of partially crossed, his belt unhooked and top button of his jeans open. _Inviting_. There was only one thing that his picture was missing. Crowley’s facial expression.

He knew what he _wanted_ to see. 

Well, he wanted to see a lot, but on Crowley’s face he was dying to see what the demon had shown him earlier during class. Dave had been critiquing his drawing – though perhaps that wasn’t entirely fair. He had only been trying to help, after all. It was his job. Only Aziraphale hadn’t wanted the interruption or the help – he wanted to linger on the small of Crowley’s back and the sharp angle of his hip and subtle curve of his thigh. Perhaps he had come off a bit touchy, but whatever it was that caught Crowley’s attention, the demon had turned and looked at him with something that danced between jealousy and protectiveness. When their eyes had met...

_His_. Aziraphale had felt like he was his.

He must have looked more transparent than he thought because Crowley asked, “everything alright?” It had been the first thing said in a while and the demon’s voice came out thicker than usual.

“Almost done,” Aziraphale assured him.

Crowley stretched, laid his head back against the top of sofa and closed his eyes.

_Oh_ , that could work.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Go ahead and relax.”

A approving grunt was all he got from the demon, but it was enough.

It was perfect.

Aziraphale went back to his drawing and adjusted the head and neck to match the absolute _vision_ on display. Crowley’s neck stretched out before him – an expanse of skin that, thanks to the opened shirt, trailed _all_ the way down and without Crowley’s fixated gaze, Aziraphale felt free to _really_ look. And he did.

As a result, the finished product came out rather obscene.

-

Crowley wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting like this, but he was about to fall asleep when he heard Aziraphale quietly close the sketchbook and clear his throat.

“You said you knew what I looked like.”

Rolling his head forward, he looked at Aziraphale with an expression that said _obviously_. Aziraphale shot him a look right back and continued.

“Show me.”

“Wh- uh,” Crowley squirmed. “S’too late…” he looked outside the window. It was morning already and the sun was creeping in from behind the closed shades. “Or whatever…early. Another time, angel.”

Aziraphale handed him the small leather bound book.

“M’not gonna look.”

“You should take it,” Aziraphale clarified. “You said you don’t need me to sit for you because you know what I look like. Why don’t you borrow my sketchbook and return it once you’ve … finished.” He started to clean up the bottles of wine. “I’m rather pleased with how mine turned out. I won’t be offended if you peek.”

Crowley thought about opening up the book right then and there, but he quickly changed his mind. There would be plenty of time for that later, once he was back in the safety of his own flat. 


End file.
